


Soon You'll Get Better

by kawaiisumi



Category: Free!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 23:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiisumi/pseuds/kawaiisumi
Summary: His head feels like it’s full of marbles, rolling around and around in his skull as he moves. They rattle in his ears, making it difficult to think.When it’s not swimming season, this side of him tends to come out more than any other time of the year.Aka, it's nice to have a friend when things get bad.





	Soon You'll Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Projecting my own feelings on fictional characters? No.........
> 
> Content warning for depression, but no explicit mention of self-harm or suicide.

**Soon You’ll Get Better**   
_Aka, it’s nice to have a friend when things get bad._

Sometimes it was bad. Sometimes it was _really_ bad.

Haru wakes up wet with sweat, loose old shirt clinging to his clammy skin. His blankets weigh heavily on his aching body, and he struggles to lift his head, peeling the sticky sheets from himself. His head feels like it’s full of marbles, rolling around and around in his skull as he moves. They rattle in his ears, making it difficult to think.

When it’s not swimming season, this side of him tends to come out more than any other time of the year. Haru thinks to himself that he’d feel better if he got up and soaked in the tub (when was the last time he bathed exactly?) but his limbs feel too heavy to move. His rusty joints groan unpleasantly as he tries to move. So instead, Haru flips his pillow over to the cool side and let’s it cradle his head; shutting his drooping eyelids and drowning out the rattles of marbles in his empty brain.

He’s been sleeping a lot lately, but every time he wakes up, he’s still tired. There’s a hazy fog that swirls within his pupils, coating everything Haru sees in a misty surreal grey - like nothing is there. Haru wakes again with a familiar pang in his chest. It’s a deep sting that buries deep into the fibers of his heart, that pulse and ripple against the constancy of his heart beat. It crackles through his ribs, spreading aching numbness through the cavity of his chest. Haru hates feeling like that. He squeezes his eyes tight, willing himself to fall back asleep. But sleep won’t come anymore. He hasn’t been keeping track of how long he’s been lying here. Hell, Haru’s not even sure what day it is anymore. What he does know is he’s been sleeping for hours; and despite the incessant throbbing in his bones, he won’t be able to fall back asleep any time soon.

Haru’s eyes focus on a particularly bland spot on the floor, a discarded granola bar wrapper that he ate a couple days ago, snuggling with a soft little dust bunny on the hardwood floor. Haru can’t remember the last time he vacuumed, or even cleaned his room. A soft powdering of dust clings to every surface it can, water glasses litter the room among discarded socks, sweaters, pants, and underwear Haru has all over the floor. He likes to think of himself as a neat and immaculate person, but Haru can’t find it in himself to get up, let alone clean the messes he’s made over the past few days.

His stomach rumbles weakly, but he ignores it because it’s too much effort to deal with. Haru reaches into his bedside table to see if there’s any snacks left there, only for his hands to brush against the bottom of the drawer. He buries his face into his pillow, which has already become hot once more. Haru flips it over again, but it doesn’t really help. He sighs tiredly, pressing his palms firmly against his chest, relishing in the slightest semblance of feeling in the empty cavity of his torso. He wills for sleep to take him, but finds his mind swimming in molasses, looking at the world through dirt coloured glasses that move like his legs are suspended in sap.

“Haru-chan?”

His door creaks open, and the stagnant air in the room shivers. Haru takes a hand through his hair, limp strands damp with sweat.

Makoto is at his bedroom door, his shadow stretched across the floor by the golden light spilling in from the hallway. “You weren’t answering your phone,” Makoto says quietly, when Haru doesn’t respond to his initial greeting. Haru hears his footsteps approach, the floorboards squeaking as he shuffles across the floor. The mattress sinks with his weight, and Haru feels Makoto brush his fingers over Haru’s legs through his thin blanket. “Is it bad again?” Makoto asks.

Haru knows Makoto already knows the answer, but he nods his head weakly, ignoring the burning in his chest when Makoto frowns. He hates seeing Makoto sad, eyes creased at the corners as his lips fold into a frown. “I’m sorry,” Haru says finally. His voice is crackly and hoarse. To be honest he’s not sure when the last time he said anything out loud was.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Makoto replies. His arms are snaking across Haru’s hips; Haru’s back pressed firmly to his torso as he holds Haru close in his arms. He breathes in the scent of bed sheets that need to be changed, pajamas that have been worn for a week straight, and air that hasn’t circulated in days. “I just want you to start feeling better. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hah squirms uncomfortably, biting down on his inner cheek. “Stop saying that…” He murmurs, burying his face into the pillows. Haru knows Makoto means well. He wants to feel better too. He hates feeling like the world is in greyscale, like his limbs are made of asphalt, and the throbbing ache in his chest that hurts with every breath will never go away. He wishes there was something that could be done, that _anything_ could be done. But there’s nothing. He doesn’t want pity. And he doesn’t want people feeling sorry for him.

It’s Makoto’s turn to apologize, laying a gentle kiss to Haru’s head, “I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing tightly around Haru’s frail body and just holding him like that. They stay still for a while, Makoto listening to Haru’s breathing while Haru presses an ear to Makoto’s chest to count his heart beats. “Do you want me to draw you a bath?” Makoto asks, “sometimes that helps you feel better.”

Haru hesitates for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head. “… Can we stay like this a little bit longer?” He asks, his hand grabbing for Makoto’s, who laces their fingers together and squeezes tightly.

“Okay Haru-chan,” Makoto agrees.

Haru relaxes into his arms, and Makoto kisses him gently on the cheek and then again on the lips. He knows eventually Makoto will make him get up and at least bathe and eat something. And he appreciates that. He’s spent too much of his life locked up in his own head, and not enough time taking care of himself so he can be with the people he cares about the most.

But for now, Makoto’s body, the warmth of his skin, and the evenness of his breaths is enough to help the marbles stop rolling in his head. They’re not gone, and he’s not cured, but it feels just a little bit better.

And a little bit better is better than nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me for more: twitter.com/kawaiisumi!


End file.
